


make you blush

by dazedlight (opinionoutpost)



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: ?????, Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, High School AU, Lashton - Freeform, M/M, Pining, Theatre!Ashton, body image issues, luke has a school girl crush, side malum, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 10:18:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5202146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opinionoutpost/pseuds/dazedlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Luke peers up, and he's sure his heart does stop this time as he shrinks in on himself, worrying at his bottom lip. He really doesn't need this right now. In fact, he needs the opposite of this – he really, really doesn't want to talk to Ashton Irwin at this moment, or <i>any</i> moment, to be honest, because he thinks his stomach might fall out of his ass if he tries."</p>
<p>Or, Luke is a dweeby Year 10 who has a crush on the star of the musical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	make you blush

**Author's Note:**

> this was actually originally a prompt submitted to me by an anon on tumblr, who asked for a lashton high school AU where luke is younger and awkward but they end up together anyway (obvs) + side malum! this got away from me (as most prompts do tbh i'm sorry i'm the worst at, like, minimal (?) writing) and i know i've been pretty inactive (school is awful) lately so i thought ya'll might like this c:
> 
> two quick notes: there's a couple instances where luke expresses dissatisfaction with his body so if you're easily triggered by body image stuff, i would maybe skip this fic. it's not anything drastic but i want you all to be safe and have positive fic experiences. also luke is 15 (which i think is how old year 10s are? if i'm wrong please let me know the australian school system is a mystery to me) and ash is 17 so while no one is underage (and nothing nasty happens anyway) if any sort of age difference makes you uncomfortable, you may also want to skip this fic!
> 
> ok that's all i'm sorry i talk so much but anyway i hope you all enjoy!

He just wants to paint the sets in peace. He wants to do his detention time alone, silently, and then he wants to go home and help his mom make Sloppy Joes. He's already been exiled off to a corner, away from the actual painters since his artistic skills were not up to the art department's standards (He _told_ Mrs. Spina that he can't draw for shit), and listening to the other theatre kids buzzing around him, chattering happily about character motivation and choreography, is making him want to dig a hole through the stage and let it swallow him up so at least he can be alone – be lonely, really – in peace.

He smooths the sides of his hair down anxiously before slopping some more grey paint onto his assigned section. His rocks keep coming out like giant blobs, so he mixes a darker grey and tries to add dimension to the shapes, but the colours just end up blending together and looking muddled and awful. He smears some more of the lighter paint on top, hoping to cover his mistake, but the paint hasn't dried and it makes the whole thing look so much worse. He panics, wiping helplessly at the mess, and only ends up covering his hands in paint. He glances around, relieved to find no one watching him, and guiltily gathers his palette and brushes, hustling backstage to wash his things and leave, hoping no one will notice the scrawny Year 10 scuttling around.

He dumps the wet art supplies into the pile of stuff by the finished sets and costumes and pulls on his backpack, shoulders hunched and head ducked as he makes his way to the door. He wishes he would stop growing; he keeps shooting up a couple inches every time they have an extended break from school and he comes back feeling clumsy and gargantuan, all his limbs too long for the rest of him. 

He's almost at the door, arm outstretched to push it open, when he feels a tug on his backpack, firm enough that he slingshots backwards, stumbling into whoever pulled him.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbles automatically, back of his neck heating as he looks at his feet. He needs new laces; his are gross and frayed.

“It's okay,” the person responds brightly. “You dropped this,” they continue and wave a notebook under Luke's nose that makes his heart stutter, the worn 'songs' label still discernible enough to read. He grabs it quickly, trying not to clutch it to his chest, and the person laughs, not unkindly. Luke peers up, and he's sure his heart does stop this time as he shrinks in on himself, worrying at his bottom lip. He really doesn't need this right now. In fact, he needs the opposite of this – he really, really doesn't want to talk to Ashton Irwin at this moment, or _any_ moment, to be honest, because he thinks his stomach might fall out of his ass if he tries. 

“Must be important,” Ashton says, gesturing to how tight Luke is holding the notebook, the edges wrinkling where his fingers are cramped together.

“Um, yeah.” He swallows tightly. “Maths notes,” he lies.

Ashton wrinkles his nose. “I've never been any good at maths. Maybe if I took it as seriously as you do, I would've though.” He laughs again, and Luke's lips twitch as he tamps down on the urge to giggle hysterically. 

“Thanks,” he squeaks, gesturing jerkily to the notebook. He starts to inch backwards, and Ashton's face flickers, slightly less cheerful just for a second before he's nodding, smiling again. “Right, no problem. See you around.”

Luke half-nods as he spins and pushes out the door, stumbling into the muggy afternoon air and willing his heart to regulate itself. His palms are sticky against the plastic cover of the notebook, and he wipes them against his pants, before tucking the book under his arm and rooting around his backpack for his cellphone.

“Mum? Can you pick me up?”

* * *

He gets more detention for skipping detention. Mrs. Spina follows him to the auditorium after class and glues her eyes to his back as he reluctantly resumes painting his pathetic boulders. He refuses to sit, instead crouching uncomfortably as he drags his paint brush back and forth. He figures this way he can escape quickly if need be, ready to nab his bag and go at a moment's notice. He knows Ashton is around, saw him poking around in the costume department with some other cast members. He'd been getting fitted for something, and Luke had caught a flash of his smooth back while he'd been collecting his supplies. He'd been so startled that he'd grabbed two tubes of yellow paint instead of the green he'd needed for the foliage he was supposed to be starting on and had had to hide in the bathroom until Ashton was gone so he could get the right paint.

Now he's on hyper-alert, glancing over his shoulder every few minutes to avoid being surprised. His bushes look even worse than his boulders, flat and lumpy, but he keeps painting them, determined to power through detention in silence.

“If you add some different tones of green, it can make the leaves look more real,” a voice pipes up, making Luke jump and drop the paint brush on his shirt, a deep smear of green trailing down his front.

“Shit,” he whispers, pulling the top away from him to examine it. “Mum's going to kill me.”

“Oh, God, I'm sorry,” the person says as they kneel by his side and – honestly, someone out there hates him. Ashton grabs the paper towel by Luke's side and starts dabbing at the stain. “Sorry,” he says again. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

His throat feels too tight, and he's worried if he tries to speak no sound will come out so he just nods erratically.

Ashton sighs. “I don't think this is coming out. I've got a spare shirt in my bag if you want to borrow it.”

Luke's stomach drops and he stands abruptly, Ashton's hands falling away from him. He thinks of Ashton's tan back, the ghost of muscle definition he'd seen. He thinks of his own pale, slightly concave chest in comparison, and the way his ribs stick out a little, while his chest is soft and slightly flabby, a reminder from primary school when he had been husky and round. 

“I'm fine, thanks!” he says, voice breaking in the middle and making his cheeks flush. 

Ashton frowns. “You sure? It's just a shirt, no big deal.”

“Yep!” Luke says, his voice still weirdly shrill and peppy. He leans down to grab his bag, trying very hard to avoid looking at Ashton and his kind eyes.

“Do you have to go?” Ashton asks, and he's still crouched where Luke was, hands resting limply against his thighs.

“Yep, sorry, bye!” Luke chirps, words rapid-fire as he launches himself off the stage, practically running past Mrs. Spina and clanging out the auditorium doors.

* * *

He just skips detention all together, figuring there aren't many rehearsals left before the musical is over so he'll just wait and take the detention time once he's sure he won't be running into Ashton anymore. He's certain he's in the clear until Mrs. Chisolm corners him in the hall on his way to music class, her lips pressed into a stern line.

“Luke,” she calls to him, voice much softer than her face.

He purses his lips and tries to meet her eye. “Yes, ma'am?”

“You know why we're having this conversation?”

He swallows. “I did really well on that maths test for the school?”

She breaks just for a moment, a small smile replacing her disapproving eyebrows. “Now is not the time to be clever.”

He bites down on a smile. “Sorry, ma'am.”

“You skipped detention again,” she says, and Luke looks at his shoes. “I don't want to have to suspend you, Luke.” She puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes. “You're a good kid. Just show up today, paint some trees.” She squeezes his shoulder again, and he looks at her, somehow managing to peer up despite having a good half foot advantage. “Then do it all again for the rest of the week. Easy.”

He wishes it was.

* * *

It'd be fine if Ashton didn't talk to him. Not that he's trying to, like, purposefully, talk to him, Luke thinks, but he keeps messing up, and Ashton is so _nice_ that he's always trying to help him out, offering him tips to correct his shitty leaves and helping him mix the correct shade of brown when all Luke can make is some gross, vomit-y sludge.

He liked it better when he could hide in the corner of the music room, pretending to do this theory work while chancing quick looks at Ashton over the edge of his notebook. He always sits with the other percussionists, right under the big window where the sun pours in, illuminating his eyes and transforming his hair into a luminous, golden halo. 

He'd written a really embarrassing song about Ashton's eyes the first time the sun hit them just right, and Michael had made fun of him for a week. He'd gone around loudly reciting lines from it whenever Ashton was in their vicinity, and Luke had almost legitimately punched him. Calum had done it for him, thankfully, because Luke really can't punch for shit.

“Maybe he likes you,” Michael suggests as their walking to the gym one day, but he wiggles his eyebrows and makes obnoxious kissing noises after it to show he's joking, and Luke considers punching him again.

“Maybe he's in _love_ with you,” Calum joins in, batting his eyelashes and fake swooning into Michael's arms, who catches him easily before coming at him with his lips, mouthing at his neck and making gross slurping noises.

“Guys,” Luke whines.

Calum shoves him off, then gives him another shove for good measure, but he looks disgustingly fond, and Luke is reminded of how woefully single he is.

“I changed my mind,” Luke declares, “I'm not cool with it. You two aren't allowed to date anymore.”

Michael slings an arm around Calum's shoulders and kisses the top of his head. “Shut up, Luke.”

“Sorry,” Calum says, sounding genuine.

“You're both the worst best friends ever,” he announces and speeds up his pace so he's a couple steps ahead of them.

“Lucas!” Calum calls after him, like he's miles away instead of feet. “We love you, we're sorry. We'll take your boy troubles more seriously.”

Luke twists around to flick them off and slams into a body instead, someone firm and hulking. He stumbles backwards, apology ready on his tongue before the large person turns to face him, snarling.

“Watch it,” he growls and Luke shrinks. The guy squares his shoulders, looking much larger than Luke could imagine any human ever being, and in return he tries to make himself appear even smaller. The guy raises a hand to smack the books out of Luke's hand, but then another hand is appearing on the guy's shoulder, and Ashton's head is popping into view, and Luke could die right there, honestly.

“Man, it was an accident, relax,” Ashton says. He smiles reassuringly at Luke. He really does want to die.

The guy ignores him and grunts, tips Luke's books out of his arms anyway and bumps his shoulder hard as he walks past him. He can't bear to look at Ashton so he drops to his knees to gather his things, purposefully staring at the ground. His shoulder throbs but he ignores it, trying to concentrate on containing the heat he feels creeping up his neck.

“Don't be such a fucking dickbag!” he hears Michael yell. “It was just an accident, God.”

Calum appears next to him and crouches, nabbing stray papers. “What an asshole,” he mutters. “He didn't even give you a chance to apologize.”

“M'sorry.” Ashton lowers himself as well, handing Luke a couple text books. “That was shitty. I should've said more.”

“It's fine,” Luke mumbles, swiping at his nose. He's glad he's not crying but he kind of wants to. “Where's Mikey?” he asks Calum.

Calum side-eyes Ashton before glancing over Luke's head. “Probably hiding in the bathroom. He swore at that guy pretty loudly.”

Luke laughs. “Idiot.”

Calum sighs but still sounds more fond than exasperated. “Yeah.”

They stand, and Calum rubs at his shoulder, asking him if it hurts. Michael appears by his side too and fusses, hands hovering around Luke but not touching, just floating around him as if he's feeling the air to make sure it's okay.

“What a dick,” he grumbles after a moment, hands falling to his sides. Luke shrugs, adjusting his grip on his books.

“S'nothing.”

“It's not,” Michael says angrily at the same time as Ashton, whose eyebrows are pinched together.

“He didn't have to toss your stuff or hit you,” Ashton continues, then, to Michael, “You're right, he's a dick.”

Michael and Calum both eye Ashton warily, positioning themselves slightly in front of Luke like the world's scrawniest defense brigade.

“It's nothing,” Luke repeats, then pointedly jabs Calum and Michael in the back. “We have to get to class. Thanks for helping with my books and stuff.” He tries to smile at Ashton, but he's sure it comes out wrong. He bumps Calum and Michael again, trying to get them to move, but they remain firmly planted, frowning at Ashton.

“It's no problem,” Ashton says, either oblivious to Calum and Michael's hostility or very good at ignoring it. “Have a good class.” He waves as he leaves, and Calum and Michael watch him closely.

Luke jostles them once more. “What the fuck, you guys!”

“What?” Michael says, eyes still on Ashton's back.

“You were being assholes.”

Calum twists around, frowning. “He just stood there. He should have helped you.”

“He did! He's nice!” Luke protests huffily. “God.”

Calum's frown deepens but he doesn't say anything more. Michael slips between them and takes his hand, placing his other on Luke's back, and starts guiding them down the hall. 

“We just don't want you dating some dickhead,” Calum says quietly. Luke spies Michael squeezing his hand out of the corner of his eye and he looks down, a touch of guilt tugging at his stomach.

“I know. It's fine.”

Calum reaches around Michael and pokes him in the side, and Luke smiles reluctantly. He sneaks an arm behind Michael's back and pokes him as well, in the arch of his spine so that he jolts forward, and Calum bats at him, the two of them roughhousing until they tumble into the locker rooms and have to part to change for gym.

* * *

Ashton's just _around_ all the time after that, and it makes Luke want to vibrate out of his body. He glimpses him in the halls constantly, and it's become a sort of routine for Ashton to help Luke with his painting once he's done his scenes. The excess exposure to Ashton hasn't made him any less nervous, but he can at the very least kind of form coherent sentences, which he's counting as progress. His bushes still look like shit, though.

“Dude, seriously, we're going to stop eating with you if you don't get your shit together,” Michael gripes one day at lunch. They're sprawled out on the field, the sun so bright Luke has to squint if he looks anywhere other than at the ground. “All you do is talk about Ashton. You're stressing everyone out.”

“Sorry,” he mumbles, picking at the grass on the lawn. Calum kicks at him.

“We're not going to stop eating with you.” He cuts his eyes to Michael, who happily ignores him as he steals one of his Doritos. Calum crinkles the top of the bag shut and holds it away from him, annoyed. “But you do need to relax.”

“It's not like he talks to you outside of detention,” Michael says around a mouthful of chips.

“But he might,” Luke almost-whines. “He did in the hall that one time with you guys.”

“That's cause a shitdick smacked your crap all over the place. He'd look like a tool if he didn't help.” 

Calum smacks him again. “Would that be a bad thing?” he asks.

“Yeah, I mean, you like him so,” Michael adds with a shrug. He steal another chip while Calum isn't looking and munches contently. 

Luke's cheeks heat. “It's not – I can't – I'm not, like, ready. Or whatever.”

Calum frowns as Michael says, “Ready for what?”

“You know, for, like, dating and stuff.”

Calum laughs as Michael goes, “He hasn't even asked you out, Jesus. Calm down.”

“Maybe he wants to be your friend,” Calum adds, and he knows it's meant to make him feel better, but it really has the opposite effect. He'd rather not be in Ashton's orbit at all than be his friend. It's hard enough admiring him from afar. He doesn't think he could bear being close to him without being, you know, _close_.

“Who'd want to be this loser's friend?” Michael snipes and tackles him, mussing up his hair and wrestling him to the ground. Calum pounces on top and smothers them with his bony body. Luke curls in on himself, laughing and shrieking until Michael catches him in the stomach with his elbow, and then he's wheezing until the bell rings and they have to go in for class.

* * *

Ashton breaks the seal, and Luke loses his mind.

“Hey,” Ashton says, pulling up a chair next to Luke. He spins it around so the back is to him and straddles it, but then decides that's uncomfortable or something and turns the chair the right way around. Once he's settled, he smiles, and Luke has to remind himself to breathe.

“Hi,” he says, but it comes out more like a question.

“I didn't know we were in the same music class,” Ashton goes and smiles some more and Luke really needs him to stop. 

“Um, yeah.”

“Cool.” Ashton bobs his head like Luke had said something much more intelligent than “um, yeah” and Luke seriously considers just flinging himself out the window. “Is it cool if I sit with you? I'd like a break from the rhythm section.” He chuckles, and Luke has to tell himself to swallow, an excess of saliva pooling in his mouth like he'd forgotten that's a thing that happens. 

“Um,” he says again, eyes flicking across the room where Michael is dropping Calum off, their hands interlaced. They pause in the doorway, their heads tucked together, Michael's lips moving fast, and Luke just keeps staring like he can silently communicate the constant screaming going on in his head through his eyes. Neither of them look over, though, and Luke considers actually screaming before Michael darts in close to Calum, leaving the quickest kiss Luke's ever seen on his cheek. He can see the flush burning Calum's ears from here and tries to divert his attention, but he's not fast enough and Ashton follows his gaze. His smile dims, and Luke's sure something inside him dies.

“You probably want to sit with your friend, right?” he says a little sadly. He starts to stand. “That's cool, I get it.” 

Luke lets out a frail “no!” as his hand lunges out to grab Ashton's arm, consequently knocking over his music stand and several after it in a humiliating domino line of obnoxious crashes. The brass section turn around to glare at the disturbance, and their gaze makes Luke snatch his hand off of Ashton as if his skin burned him.

“Um,” he repeats, “I mean – it's cool if you want to stay.”

Ashton grins. “Great.” He picks up the fallen music stands while Luke watches helplessly and then plops down next to him again, Luke hyper-aware of the space between them. The pale hair on his arms seems to stand on end, reaching for Ashton like flowers reach for the sun. 

He's uncomfortably rigid in his seat as Mr. Peterson hands out new sheet music and then leads them through the timing of the piece, getting them all to clap the rhythm back to him while he counts aloud. Luke's so distracted by Ashton just sitting next to him that he keeps messing up, focusing on the heat radiating off of Ashton's bicep instead of matching the beat.

His face is flaming by the time the period is up. He hurriedly starts shoving things into his bag while Ashton rearranges his sheet music leisurely. Luke glances at him nervously as he fiddles with the zipper on his bag, just wanting to leave so he can implode in peace. He's _good_ at music, he _knows_ he is, but he couldn't keep time to save his life today, and Ashton's probably wondering how even got in this class. He can feel his hair sticking to his forehead and he pushes at it uselessly, making it stick up in the front and exposing his forehead. He smooths it down again and ignores the sweat gathering at his neck.

“Are you coming to the play?” Ashton asks, stopping Luke short. 

He tugs at his hair again. “I don't know. I wasn't planning on it, to be honest.”

“Oh,” Ashton says, and he looks... disappointed? “You've just been working hard on all the props and stuff so I thought you might want to see all of them, like, actually put to use.”

“I was only there for detention,” Luke blurts. The words come out so fast they almost don't sound like anything, and he cringes. “Also I'm really shit at art so, like, I kind of don't want to see anything I made on stage.” 

Ashton laughs, and it's just as shocking as the first time Luke made it happen.

“It'd be cool if you came,” Ashton says and rests a hand on Luke's knee. His hands are huge against Luke's skinny leg, and they're rough, broken in. They look like a man's hands, like they've accomplished some shit, and, as Luke's eyes trail up, he thinks it's sort of funny that Ashton's arms don't really match, that they look comically boyish in comparison.

Ashton strokes his thumb against his knee, making Luke flick his eyes up to his. He wants to look back down because it feels nice, Ashton's thumb, and it makes him wish his hand was on his hip or locked together with his instead of on his leg.

“Okay,” he finds himself saying, “maybe.”

* * *

He can't convince Michael or Calum to see the play with him, so he goes alone and sits in the back, basically behind a massive support beam so no one can see him. Despite the post he has a perfect view of Ashton if he cranes his neck slightly to the left, which is great because he pretty much forgets to look at anyone else. No one else matters when Ashton's on stage, his presence shining brighter than any of his cast members could hope for. When he sings, Luke's almost one hundred percent sure his heart actually skips.

After the final bow, he slinks down in his seat and waits for the auditorium to empty, only rising when there's just over-zealous parents left, their cameras flashing as they maneuver their children into a myriad of poses. He examines the sad bouquet he'd bought at the grocery store at the last minute, plucking a couple flowers that he'd accidentally picked apart during the performance and chucking them in the bin before slowly making his way towards the stage.

He doesn't think Ashton will notice him, that he can just leave the flowers with a note or something on a dressing room table then slip out without bothering anyone, but the moment he steps backstage, Ashton's pulling out of a hug with someone and catches him right in the eye. He bursts into an exuberant grin that makes Luke's grip clench around the flowers and causes a cold sweat to break out on his back. 

“You came!” Ashton exclaims as he extracts himself from the cast to come to him.

“Yeah,” he replies before thrusting the bouquet in front of him. “These are – just, um, congratulations. You were really great. Heaps better than everyone else.”

Ashton takes the flowers and beams brighter, if possible, before pulling Luke in for a warm hug, that huge hand imprinting on his back through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. He desperately attempts to suck the sweat back into his pores, blindly hoping Ashton can't feel how wet his back is.

“Thanks,” Ashton says sincerely. “I didn't think you came. I couldn't find you in the crowd.”

Luke startles. “You were looking for me?”

Ashton looks down, fidgets with the plastic wrap encasing the bouquet. “Yeah.”

A smile tugs at his lips, and he lets it blossom, cheeks hurting a little from how big he's smiling. “Oh.”

Ashton looks up at him through his lashes, and Luke tries to reel the smile in a bit so he looks less psychotic, but then Ashton's hand is darting up. He cups his face and places the pad of his thumb on his cheek, covering the dimple he has. He forgets how to do anything else besides grin.

“Your dimple is so cute,” he says quietly, almost more to himself than to Luke, as he presses down lightly. Luke leans into his touch. He'll find the time to be embarrassed about it later because right now all he can focus on is Ashton's hand on his face.

“Your dimples are cute, too.” 

Ashton's dimples are so deep that he barely has to smile for them to show. Luke wants to bite them.

Ashton giggles before moving his thumb to run along the curve of Luke's bottom lip. He stops at the corner, and Luke swallows thickly, slightly parting his mouth. Ashton inhales sharply, and Luke thinks he could kiss him if he wants, that maybe Ashton wants him to kiss him.

“You were really great,” he says again, hoarsely, his voice just above a whisper. He purses his lips before licking them anxiously, this weird sense of anticipation between them making his mouth go dry. Ashton pulls his bottom lip down with his thumb and traces it again. Luke would let him do that one motion all day.

He keeps staring at his lips, and it's killing Luke so he says his name, just once, as quiet as he can make himself, and Ashton's eyes snap up to his. 

“Ashton?” he repeats, and Ashton exhales, not quite a sigh, something more wistful. 

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he starts to pull away. Luke panics, body pitching forward as he chases Ashton's touch. He smacks a hand up to keep Ashton's on his cheek, pressing his face into it as he leans forward. He thinks he's going to do it; he's actually going to kiss him, but then Ashton turns his face at the last moment, and his lips land on his cheek, awkward and a little wet. Luke lets go of Ashton's hand and straightens, the heat flaring up his body probably turning his face a concerning shade of pink as he puts space between them.

“I'm sorry,” he stammers, glaring at his feet as the mortification of what just happened washes over him. “I'm sorry,” he says again and turns, feet blurring as he speed-walks away.

“Luke!” Ashton calls after him, but he can't stop, walking as fast as he can without all-out running. He's reaching for the auditorium doors, so close, when he feels a hand lock around his wrist, pulling him back and spinning him around.

“Luke,” Ashton repeats. He stares resolutely at the little gap between the toes of his dirty shoes and the toes of Ashton's. “Hey, please.” He taps the underside of Luke's chin with his finger. “Please look at me.”

He lifts his head minutely, moving his eyes up more than his head, and Ashton exhales. “I'm sorry–”

“Oh, God,” he blubbers, tilting his head to the side. “Please don't say you're sorry. This is embarrassing enough.”

“What–” Ashton starts, but Luke barrels on, the words spilling out before he has time to catch them and shove them back in.

“It was nice of you to, like, hang out with me and stuff even though I'm just some stupid kid who's kind of shit at most things – except for music, I'm actually kind of good at that but you make me so nervous? I swear I don't suck that much usually. But, um...” He pauses to take a shaky breath. “I just, you know, I like you, but you obviously don't like me so that's cool and, um, I'm sorry I tried to kiss you.” He laughs a little hysterically and instantly regrets it, tries to swallow the noise but instead just hiccups loudly. “That was weird, I'm sorry.”

Ashton doesn't say anything for a moment, which is much worse than Luke expected. 

“I think that's the most I've ever heard you talk,” he finally says, and Luke lets out that hysterical, hiccupy laugh once more before muffling it with his hands. Ashton reaches for him again, and he should shy away, but he's weak and let's Ashton cup his face once more, his thumb brushing his cheekbone this time. (It's weird to him that Ashton can touch his cheekbone, that he can find it, because Luke didn't even _have_ discernible cheekbones until, like, two months ago when he went through another growth spurt and his face thinned out seemingly over night. It feels nice to have someone touch him there.)

“You're not a dumb kid,” he mumbles finally. He's looking at Luke, but not in his eyes, and his voice wavers a bit when he speaks, and for a second he looks young, like Luke, and it emboldens him slightly, enough so that he tilts his head up to meet his gaze.

“I like you,” he says even more quietly. “I wanted to kiss you, I don't know why I didn't.” He purses his lips. “I guess I got scared.”

Everything inside him goes quiet. He thinks he should be dying, that his heart should be racing, and his fingertips should be tingling but none of that is happening. He lifts a hand and places it on Ashton's shoulder, closer to his neck so his thumb can swipe against his collarbone. When he doesn't shrug him off, he inches in so that their toes touch. They're close enough to kiss when he looks up, and he tilts his head, letting their lips just touch. He's trying not to think about how this is the first time he's kissed a boy or wonder about whether it's going to feel different, taste different. 

Ashton takes a shuddering breath in when their lips brush a second time that gives Luke a burst of confidence that makes him lean in just barely. Their lips connect, albeit clumsily at first. Ashton's hand slips to the back of his head and weaves through his hair, guiding him into a better position. Their mouths slot together more smoothly, and Luke thinks kissing was never like this with anyone else.

They break apart, and Ashton holds his face, gazes at him like he hangs the sun each day. It's overwhelming to be looked at so openly.

“So you like me,” he says to break the quiet. It sounds a little like a question, and it makes Ashton laugh.

“Yeah.”

Luke nods, then keeps nodding, like the more he does it the more everything will make sense. “Okay. That's good.”

Ashton's hands drop and he pushes playfully at his shoulder. “Don't you like me too?”

Luke shoves him back. “Shut up. Obviously.”

Ashton laughs again before his face softens, looking fond, like Calum and Michael do when they look at each other. He's going to stop making fun of them for that because he now understands why they do it so much; he really does believe he hangs the sun every morning with Ashton looking at him like that.

Ashton shifts and ghosts his fingertips along Luke's knuckles. “That's good.”

**Author's Note:**

> if you have any requests/prompts, you can drop them at [my main blog](http://peachflush.tumblr.com/) or my [drabble blog](http://fvedrabbles.tumblr.com/)!


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